Spiffing
by Naisa
Summary: Sherlock arrives at 221B Baker Street, very drunk, so John has to look after him. Madness and hangovers ensue, while Sherlock questions if he's a snail and some surprising secrets are revealed...No slash, though John is worried there might be...One shot!


_This idea for a one shot just randomly popped into my head - what would happen if Sherlock came home one day, drunk? I'm sure there have been lots of drunk!Sherlock fanfics, but I wanted to try my own, and writing drunk fics are so much fun! :)_

_This is set in between episodes 1 and 2 of series 2, so there are slight series 2 spoilers :)_

_Special thanks for F.T.L Everdeen Holmes, who read this through for me._

_I hope you enjoy! Would love to know what you think so please review! :D_

* * *

Spiffing

John's watch had just ticked past one in the morning when he heard a loud crash from downstairs, followed by a cry of:

"Ouch! Sorry! Don't worry, it's just me!" And then what sounded like the owner of the voice tripping over something and crashing to the floor, before muttering "I should have seen that."

A couple of minutes later, Sherlock Holmes emerged at the top of the stairs at 221B Baker Street. His hair in disarray, his smart suit crumpled, and an unusually large grin plastered on his face when he saw his friend staring, open-mouthed at him.

"John!" He cried happily. "How spiffing it is to see you!"

For a few moments, John couldn't do much else other than stare at Sherlock as he stumbled into the room, looking quite pleased at his achievement of managing to walk up some stairs without breaking any bones.

"Spiffing?" John repeated, "Sherlock are you-"

"Yep, I'm spiffing too! Because spiffing is such a great word!" Sherlock claimed in a very loud voice and collapsing into a chair, sparks dancing in his eyes.

"Ssh," John said hurriedly.

"Oh it's fiine, Mrs Hudson isn't in! We can't wake her!" You would have thought Sherlock was on the other side of the street by the way he felt like he needed to yell.

"I was more concerned about our neighbours, and the rest of London." John said flatly, as he watched Sherlock sink down into the chair, pull himself back up again, then sink back down into the chair, then sit back up again, then sink back down..."So the dinner party with Mycroft went well then?" He asked. "Was it 'spiffing'?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes as he pulled himself up into the chair, then sunk down yet again. Anyone would think his chair was covered in oil. "Oh, it was so boring! You know what Mycroft's like! And all these people I didn't want to meet who work in the government who I really don't care about! It was fun pointing out which ones were avoiding to pay tax and such, their faces!" And Sherlock began, what only John could describe as, giggling. He suddenly grew more concerned. "But they had more drink than food, and Mycroft tried to get me drinking lots to try and shut me up..."

"I'm guessing it didn't work." John muttered.

"No, it didn't!" Sherlock cried, an even bigger grin on his face now. He glanced at the time, then squinted. "It's past one o'clock John! What are you still doing up?"

It sounded like Sherlock was now turning into John's mother, he should get some coffee into this man and quickly. "Well, when you didn't come home at eleven and wasn't replying to any of my texts, I got worried..."

"So you stayed up for me?"

John nodded

"Aww, that's really sweet John!" Sherlock gave a cheeky smile. "I'm not sure why I didn't answer my phone though..." He looked down at himself as if to see his mobile just randomly appearing on his lap, when he didn't, he frowned. "I think I lost it, that's not so spiffing..."

"Sherlock..." John said slowly.

"Yes!"

"How much have you had to drink?"

Sherlock shrugged, then hiccupped. "Not much, really...that I can remember. Gets a bit blurry..."

Something told John that this may be a long night, and that it didn't matter how much Sherlock had actually drunk, he was probably quite a lightweight. He stood up. "Right, I think you need some coffee."

"It's fine John," Sherlock said with a careless and drunken wave of his hand. "I don't want any coffee."

"I didn't say want, I said _need_, you definitely need a coffee."

Sherlock huffed in annoyance, but couldn't be bothered to argue. John was allowed a few moments of peace while he put the kettle on and made Sherlock some coffee (though he thought he could hear the consulting detective actually humming to himself in the living room), they were out of milk, but for once that didn't really matter.

When John came back, Sherlock had his feet and legs on the chair, with the rest of him dangling upside down from it. He grinned as he watched John walk on the ceiling with a coffee in his hands.

"Fancy seeing you here!" He laughed. He stared at the coffee, as if he wasn't sure what to do with it. He turned his nose up as the strong smell of caffeine wafted his way, and decided to ignore the drink. Instead, he looked at the clock again and then he turned his attention back to John, while still hanging upside down.

"That's very spiffing of you John, you didn't have to."

John wasn't sure if Sherlock was talking about getting him the coffee, staying up all night for him or just generally having to live with him even when he was in an intoxicated state. Or maybe it was just the words of a drunken man, because Sherlock usually wasn't particularly grateful for anything. So he just shrugged and said nothing.

There was a short silence, in which Sherlock continued to hang upside down (perhaps he thinks he's turned into a bat, John wondered,) and stared at his roommate, which was making him feel a little uncomfortable.

"Joohn," Sherlock began.

"Yes?"

"I loove you."

Another, much more uncomfortable, stretch of silence. _Please don't tell me he said that..._ John thought to himself "No you don't."He said quickly.

Sherlock looked worried at his reaction, "But I do!"

_Well, this is monumentally awkward_. John thought to himself, deciding it was better to stare at the floor than at the upside down Sherlock, who was still watching him closely, probably for a reaction to this major news. John wondered how many people have won bets now it's finally been revealed that after all...

"In a perfectly platonic way of course."Sherlock added suddenly, and John couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief. What would have happened if Sherlock had actually meant it? "When I say I loove you," the consulting detective continued, he seemed to be enjoying adding extra letters to certain words. "I mean, in a friend way."

"Well, that's...good." John said eventually.

Sherlock smiled happily as he finally pulled himself into a sitting position on his chair, "Joohn," he said again.

"Yes Sherlock?"

"I loove you."

"I know Sherlock."

"In a friend way."

"Of course Sherlock."

There was another, less awkward, pause, while Sherlock thought for a little bit, staring up at the ceiling as if he was expecting someone to fall through it at any moment. "I don't know who I love actually."

John shrugged, "there's nothing wrong with that. You don't have to be in love with someone."

Sherlock considered this for a while, hiccupping once or twice. "I know, but I don't know...who I'm attracted to. I mean, I've never felt about anyone in that way. I felt something there for Irene Adler, but that might have just been because she was...different, a challenge. To be honest, I don't know if I'm gay or straight. Maybe I'm asexual."

_That would explain surprisingly a lot,_ John thought, "Well, you did tell me when we first met that you were married to your work, or something like that. I've never met an asexual human though."

Sherlock frowned as he tried to remember, "I did?" He shrugged, "I probably am. No, I haven't met an asexual human either, unless you can meet yourself...maybe I'm not human."

_Once again, that would explain a lot,_ John considered as the drunken Sherlock began talking about nothing in particular.

"What animals are asexuals? I think snails are asexual... John?"

"Yes?"  
"Am I a snail?" Sherlock genuinely looked worried about this.

"No, I don't think so Sherlock." John said comfortingly. Sherlock nodded in relief, and then began swinging his legs from side to side, humming what sounded horribly like Justin Bieber's 'Baby'.

This was a good cue for John, he stood up. "Right Sherlock, I think it's time..."

The consulting detective leapt up suddenly, a mad grin on his face. "To solve a crime! Spiffing! Where's the body? You know, I'm pretty sure Mrs Hudson's been acting suspicious lately, maybe she has something to hide..."

"No!" John said quickly before Sherlock ran off to look for a dead body. "I think it's time you go to bed."

Sherlock stopped, and hiccupped again. "Oh, that's a lot less exciting. Isn't there a murder we can solve, or some big political scandal to try and cover up?"

John shook his head, "Afraid not, not until the morning when you have a little less alcohol in your system."

The consulting detective considered this option for a moment, it looked like hard work, but this was probably the first time he'd been drunk. "I suppose that's the best idea...It'll be tricky to solve a crime anyway because sometimes the room starts spinning..." He stumbled back a little as if to prove his statement.

John sighed, looks like he was going to have to put Sherlock to bed as well, good job he said he loved him a friend way...John grabbed him by the sleeve and half pulled, half-dragged Sherlock into his bedroom, while the consulting detective noted how his own room looked like a battlefield, and then started sprouting out facts about the English Civil War.

After about ten minutes, John finally got the consulting detective tucked up in bed (no, he didn't change Sherlock's clothes, he decided to spare himself the embarrassment), Sherlock snuggled down under the covers, and almost looked cute. It seemed his age had descended into the single figures, John certainly felt like he was having to look after a seven-year-old boy this evening.

Sherlock sighed, "I don't think I drunk that coffee you know," he began.

"Never mind," John said quickly, "Maybe it's best that you didn't. I just got you in bed, I'm not letting you go and get any caffeine."

"I'm not tired though," Sherlock yawned, closing his eyes slowly. "And don't let that yawn disprove my point, I was simply doing...mouth exercises." He smirked at his own random words.

"Yes you are," John said, relieved that Sherlock was the type of person who hardly ever got drunk. He didn't want to end up being his babysitter every other night, he certainly wasn't going to read his friend a bedtime story. "Now go to sleep, you'll have a clearer head in the morning."

Sherlock nodded, yawning again. John thought that was the end of it, and he could leave his friend to sleep, but just as he turned to go Sherlock spoke again. "Thanks for taking care of me John." He murmured. "You're like a brother you know, my brother, before he started hating me."

John paused by the door, surprised by Sherlock's words. "Err, you're welcome. And your brother doesn't hate you, he tries to take care of you."

"Oh, he only does that because he sees it as the brotherly thing, and he would never forgive himself if something really bad happened to me, he says he does it for mother." There was a pause, John thought that was the end of the conversation, but then Sherlock suddenly said "do you know why he hates me John?"

"I have no idea," John admitted, he had wondered quite often why there seemed to be a rift between the two brothers, but decided it was best not to ask. Whatever it was, it would be a private family matter and none of his business.

"It's nothing really," Sherlock said with a careless wave of his sleepy hand. "I mean, there's always been some competition between us, to be the better son, to be the most intelligent brother. That was never good for our relationship. When we were younger he took really good care of me, things changed when he got older though. But the first time Mycroft said he actually hated me was when we were teenagers. I'd stolen a girl from him."

John's mouth fell open. "No, really?"

Sherlock nodded, his head only just poking out from under the covers. "Oh yes, I must have been about fifteen, she was younger than Mycroft but older than me. I had no interest in her of course, being a snail and all." He laughed at the thought. "But Mycroft had been pining after the girl for months, and when he finally manages to ask her on a date, she says she's got to her eye on someone else. When he asked who, she said it was me. That did not make Mycroft happy, he blamed me, even though it wasn't really my fault. He told me he hated me, that I'd never be a consulting detective, and from then on things haven't been the same at all. We're not really brothers anymore."

There was a pause, as the words sunk in. This was the last thing John expected, and he felt a little sorry for Sherlock, the two brothers must have been really close once, but then an event that wasn't really anyone's fault drove the already drifting boys apart. "I'm sure your brother didn't mean it when he said he hated you," John said softly.

Sherlock shrugged under the covers. "Maybe not. I feel like he's been trying to make up for those horrible words he said to me now, but he's never apologised or taken back his words. Perhaps deep down he still hates me a little bit for what happened, he did really like that girl."

John tried to think of something to comfort Sherlock with this news. He felt really sorry for him now he had learned what had happened. It must have meant a lot to Sherlock as well, as he was only prepared to admit this while drunk. The tone of voice told John that the consulting detective didn't think this relationship with his brother could be fixed, and that didn't seem fair. "Your brother doesn't hate you Sherlock." He said.

"I know," Sherlock sighed, "You've already said that."

It sounded like something that didn't really bother Sherlock at all, but John had a feeling it did, it really did.

Another pause, but there seemed to be nothing else to say, "Well, goodnight Sherlock," John said eventually.

"Goodnight Johnny-boy," said the sleepy and intoxicated Sherlock. "Loove you."

"I know."

"In a friend and brotherly way."

"I know...me too."

"Spiffing!"

And John closed the door quietly behind him to let Sherlock sleep.

* * *

John was awoken the next morning, unfortunately not by the sound of birds singing, or the smell of fresh breakfast, but of a loud, rumbling groan from someone in a _lot_ of pain, and then a "Joohn!"

John sighed, and sat up. He was slowly beginning to remember what happened last night as he steadily grew more awake.

Oh yes, that's right, Sherlock had got drunk.

"Joohn!"  
And it sounded like he was experiencing his first hangover.

Sighing, John got out of bed, knowing the constant groaning sound was not going to go away. He left his bedroom and wandered into the living room, looking for the source of the noise.

He quickly found it, Sherlock stretched out on the sofa, still dressed in the same clothes as before, his eyes screwed up in pain.

"What's the matter?" John asked, though he could already guess the answer.

"I'm in so much pain John!" Sherlock cried out. "My stomach has been turned inside out and I'm aching all over! But my head, oh my head is the worst! It's like there's been an earthquake in my brain and a huge crack had emerged down the middle, followed by a herd of stampeding wildebeest. What was I doing last night?" He demanded.

"Well, if it makes you feel any better, you weren't actually anywhere near any wildebeest or earthquakes." The accompanying groan to this statement told John that it didn't. "But you did get a bit drunk."

Sherlock seems surprised by this. "Drunk? Really?"

John nodded, "And when I say a bit, that may be an understatement..."

Another loud groan emerged from Sherlock, "This is not good." He moaned, then he looked up and glared at John. "I have a headache the size of the grand canyon, must you be so loud?"

"I didn't say anything."

"No, but you were breathing _really _loudly." Sherlock snapped, "how did I get drunk anyway?"

John shrugged, "I'm not sure, but you said you went to a dinner party with Mycroft."

Sherlock tried to sit up in alarm, but unsurprisingly he was finding this small act quite difficult. "Mycroft!" He groaned extra loudly. "Oh, I hate my brother!"  
"I don't think you do," John said slowly.

"Oh shut up John, what do you know?" Sherlock snapped, clearly not remembering what conversations they had the night before. "Just leave me alone so I can die in peace! And get me some tea," he added.

John sighed, "spiffing."

"Don't use that word John, that's a ridiculous word."

_It's good to have my friend back, _John thought to himself, deciding to take the opportunity to go out and get some more milk while Sherlock lay dying as loudly as possible.


End file.
